


Dead Man Walking

by Trotzkopf



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Heartache, Heartbreak, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 21:06:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14269533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trotzkopf/pseuds/Trotzkopf
Summary: They had agreed they needed space. They had agreed it couldn’t happen again. They had agreed it was in the city’s best interest. -- Easier said than done.





	Dead Man Walking

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr prompt asking for hurt!Vetinari

It had been three weeks, four days, eighteen hours, and three minutes since he had last seen the Duke of Ankh, His Grace, Commander of the City Watch, Sir Samuel Vimes.

_They had agreed they needed space._

“Your lordship,” Lord Downey greeted the Patrician as warm as NoThingfjord in winter as he walked passed him toward the bar in the opera house’s expansive foyer.

“Downey,” Vetinari replied in kind before his eyes scanned the crowd again. People were pouring in to attend the premier of _“La sarta di Genua”_ in honour of the new Quirmian ambassador.

_They had agreed it couldn’t happen again._

“Très bon! What a wonderful turnout!” The ambassador beamed. Vetinari inclined his head and smiled politely as the short man waddled on.

_They had agreed it was in the city’s best interest._

“Havelock!” His heart skipped a beat when he turned toward Lady Sybil’s voice. Time seemed to slow, each movement felt as if he was fighting against treacle. His breath left him in a rush when he saw she was alone.

_Three weeks, four days, eighteen hours, and eight minutes of going through the motions._

“Sybil, what an unexpected pleasure.” He kissed her hand.

“Yes,” she sighed. “You know how Sam is.”

_He knew. All too well._

“He was so fidgety, I agreed to come back early today under the condition we’d attend tonight. I’m excited to see Virgo Arum perform again. I hear she came out of…uhm…retirement for this role.”

“Indeed,” Havelock replied, although he quite honestly couldn’t care less.

“I hear Igor did wonderful work. Sam scoffed of course. But I said if that nice Constable Shoe can do an honest day’s work, so can she.”

Years of practice as a politician came to his aid when he casually asked, “Is the commander going to join us?”

_Three weeks, four days, eighteen hours, and ten minutes of trying to forget._

“Sam? Oh yes, I was quite emphatic about that. He just ran off when he spotted someone from the Borogravian delegation. Someone he knew. He’ll be back in a minute”

This was perhaps not the time to point out that Borogravia had no representation in the city to date.

The gong rang.

“Time to go. I’ll see you at the reception?” Sybil asked, already poised to walk to the stairs which led to her family’s box. It happened to be directly opposite the Patrician’s on the other side of the hall.

“Of course,” he replied and watched her go.

How long could he delay? It wasn’t a hard and fast rule to wait for the ruler of the city, but his absence would be noticed.

Sam was here. In the same building, after three weeks, four days, eighteen hours, and fifteen minutes of trying to forget what it felt like to touch him, to taste him, to feel how hot his skin burned when their arms and legs were tangled under the sheets. The way Sam looked at him when they were alone and, for a few hours, they were just two men with no responsibilities and no barriers. Stolen time. But stealing was a crime, and so they had agreed.

_No more distractions._

He waited until the gong rang a final time and the last people sauntered or swayed to their seats. Sam failed to materialise and so the Patrician made his way to his box.

A servant bowed and asked, “Do you need anything, your lordship?”

_Yes, my heart. It was stolen some time ago, albeit with my permission. Truth be told, it was a tit-for-tat situation. But then, after a lengthy and very loud debate, the thief and I agreed on a mutual return policy, alas mine has failed to find its way back to me. Have you seen it?_

“No, you may go.” Vetinari replied. The servant bowed and closed the curtains. Havelock sat alone and did not let his gaze wonder over the crowd and across the hall, focusing on the stage instead where the director stood in the spotlight.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, it’s an incredible honour…”

Out of the corner of his eye, Vetinari saw a flash of light in the box on the other side as if a curtain had been swept aside and redrawn. A figure moved in the gloom and sat next to Sybil, next to his wife, the person he had sworn to love until death do us part.

Applause. His hands clapped. Going through the motions.

_Three weeks, four days, eighteen hours, and thirty-three minutes until he saw Sam Vimes again._

The curtain rose and the opening act began. It was dark, but he knew if the lights were on their eyes would meet.

_Sam._

His chair didn’t crash when he shot out of his seat and swiftly slipped through the curtains. The servant just outside never saw him leave.

He had no plan. He only knew he had to see him. For almost fifty years he had kept the world at arm’s length. But then this scruffy, angry man had crashed into his life and wormed under his skin, and stayed.

There was no conceivable length of space or time which would manage to exorcise Sam Vimes from his heart. He knew that now.

Everything for Ankh-Morpork. But not this. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for this city. He had fought, bled, smiled, lied, bribed, blackmailed and killed for it.

Everything for Ankh-Morpork. But what of Havelock? Sam had asked him that once.

“What about you?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh, you call yourself a tyrant, but the reason there’s a rumour you’re not entirely human is because you never seem to want anything for yourself. Other rulers take bribes or force their subjects into building them great mansions or whatever. But not you. Everything for Ankh-Morpork. Is there nothing you want?”

Vetinari had stared, pulse racing, as Vimes sauntered closer.

“Only one thing, commander. But it has to be given freely. I can’t ask for it and it cannot be taken.”

“Can it be a gift?”

Havelock nodded and Sam had pulled him close and kissed him.

In the here and now he was nearly running through the curved corridor. Someone was coming toward him. He walked faster.

“You bastard—“

This time it was him who pulled Sam Vimes against his chest, hands cradling his face before he kissed him. Sam’s hands bunched the fabric on the back of his jacket as he tried to get even closer.

“Let’s not do that ever again,” Vimes mumbled and Havelock’s heart jumped into his throat.

“What?”

“A bloody month, Havelock. Never again. Idiots, is what we are. I don’t mind saying it. Half the blame is on me, but ye gods. Next time you have the brilliant idea to do the right thing for Ankh-Morpork plant a tree or something, but never ever push me away again. I’m not that young any more and my heart can’t take it.” 

Havelock chuckled against Sam’s lips. His eyes fell on the clock on the wall.

“Three weeks, four days, eighteen hours, and forty-eight minutes.”

Vimes frowned at him.

“That’s how long I was a dead man walking.”

Sam smiled before he kissed him again while on stage the incomparable Virgo Arum sang about the price of love.

The End


End file.
